CHAPTER V
STORY OF THE PRESS-GANG
For a few days after the evening mentioned in the last chapter theweather was dull. Not in quick, sudden showers did the rain comedown, but in constant drizzle, blotting out all colour from thesurrounding landscape, and filling the air with fine gray mist,until people breathed more water than air. At such times theconsciousness of the nearness of the vast unseen sea acted as adreary depression to the spirits; but besides acting on the nervesof the excitable, such weather affected the sensitive or ailing inmaterial ways. Daniel Robson's fit of rheumatism incapacitated himfrom stirring abroad; and to a man of his active habits, andsomewhat inactive mind, this was a great hardship. He was notill-tempered naturally, but this state of confinement made him moreill-tempered than he had ever been before in his life. He sat in thechimney-corner, abusing the weather and doubting the wisdom ordesirableness of all his wife saw fit to do in the usual dailyhousehold matters. The 'chimney-corner' was really a corner atHaytersbank. There were two projecting walls on each side of thefire-place, running about six feet into the room, and a stout woodensettle was placed against one of these, while opposite was thecircular-backed 'master's chair,' the seat of which was composed ofa square piece of wood judiciously hollowed out, and placed with onecorner to the front. Here, in full view of all the operations goingon over the fire, sat Daniel Robson for four live-long days,advising and directing his wife in all such minor matters as theboiling of potatoes, the making of porridge, all the work on whichshe specially piqued herself, and on which she would have takenadvice--no! not from the most skilled housewife in all the threeRidings. But, somehow, she managed to keep her tongue quiet fromtelling him, as she would have done any woman, and any other man, tomind his own business, or she would pin a dish-clout to his tail.She even checked Sylvia when the latter proposed, as much for fun asfor anything else, that his ignorant directions should be followed,and the consequences brought before his eyes and his nose.
'Na, na!' said Bell, 'th' feyther's feyther, and we mun respect him.But it's dree work havin' a man i' th' house, nursing th' fire, an'such weather too, and not a soul coming near us, not even to fallout wi' him; for thee and me must na' do that, for th' Bible's sake,dear; and a good stand-up wordy quarrel would do him a power ofgood; stir his blood like. I wish Philip would turn up.'
Bell sighed, for in these four days she had experienced somewhat ofMadame de Maintenon's difficulty (and with fewer resources to meetit) of trying to amuse a man who was not amusable. For Bell, goodand sensible as she was, was not a woman of resources. Sylvia'splan, undutiful as it was in her mother's eyes, would have doneDaniel more good, even though it might have made him angry, than hiswife's quiet, careful monotony of action, which, however it mightconduce to her husband's comfort when he was absent, did not amusehim when present.
Sylvia scouted the notion of cousin Philip coming into theirhousehold in the character of an amusing or entertaining person,till she nearly made her mother angry at her ridicule of the goodsteady young fellow, to whom Bell looked up as the pattern of allthat early manhood should be. But the moment Sylvia saw she had beengiving her mother pain, she left off her wilful little jokes, andkissed her, and told her she would manage all famously, and ran outof the back-kitchen, in which mother and daughter had been scrubbingthe churn and all the wooden implements of butter-making. Belllooked at the pretty figure of her little daughter, as, running pastwith her apron thrown over her head, she darkened the window beneathwhich her mother was doing her work. She paused just for a moment,and then said, almost unawares to herself, 'Bless thee, lass,'before resuming her scouring of what already looked almostsnow-white.
Sylvia scampered across the rough farmyard in the wetting, drizzlingrain to the place where she expected to find Kester; but he was notthere, so she had to retrace her steps to the cow-house, and, makingher way up a rough kind of ladder-staircase fixed straight againstthe wall, she surprised Kester as he sat in the wool-loft, lookingover the fleeces reserved for the home-spinning, by popping herbright face, swathed round with her blue woollen apron, up throughthe trap-door, and thus, her head the only visible part, sheaddressed the farm-servant, who was almost like one of the family.
'Kester, feyther's just tiring hissel' wi' weariness an' vexation,sitting by t' fireside wi' his hands afore him, an' nought to do.An' mother and me can't think on aught as 'll rouse him up to a bitof a laugh, or aught more cheerful than a scolding. Now, Kester,thou mun just be off, and find Harry Donkin th' tailor, and bringhim here; it's gettin' on for Martinmas, an' he'll be coming hisrounds, and he may as well come here first as last, and feyther'sclothes want a deal o' mending up, and Harry's always full of hisnews, and anyhow he'll do for feyther to scold, an' be a new persontoo, and that's somewhat for all on us. Now go, like a good oldKester as yo' are.'
Kester looked at her with loving, faithful admiration. He had sethimself his day's work in his master's absence, and was verydesirous of finishing it, but, somehow, he never dreamed ofresisting Sylvia, so he only stated the case.
'T' 'ool's a vast o' muck in 't, an' a thowt as a'd fettle it, an'do it up; but a reckon a mun do yo'r biddin'.'
'There's a good old Kester,' said she, smiling, and nodding hermuffled head at him; then she dipped down out of his sight, thenrose up again (he had never taken his slow, mooney eyes from thespot where she had disappeared) to say--'Now, Kester, be wary anddeep--thou mun tell Harry Donkin not to let on as we've sent forhim, but just to come in as if he were on his round, and took usfirst; and he mun ask feyther if there is any work for him to do;and I'll answer for 't, he'll have a welcome and a half. Now, bedeep and fause, mind thee!'
'A'se deep an' fause enow wi' simple folk; but what can a do i'Donkin be as fause as me--as happen he may be?'
'Ga way wi' thee! I' Donkin be Solomon, thou mun be t' Queen o'Sheba; and I'se bound for to say she outwitted him at last!'
Kester laughed so long at the idea of his being the Queen of Sheba,that Sylvia was back by her mother's side before the cachinnationended.
That night, just as Sylvia was preparing to go to bed in her littlecloset of a room, she heard some shot rattling at her window. Sheopened the little casement, and saw Kester standing below. Herecommenced where he left off, with a laugh--
'He, he, he! A's been t' queen! A'se ta'en Donkin on t' reet side,an' he'll coom in to-morrow, just permiskus, an' ax for work, likeas if 't were a favour; t' oud felley were a bit cross-grained atstartin', for he were workin' at farmer Crosskey's up at t' otherside o' t' town, wheer they puts a strike an' a half of maut intilt' beer, when most folk put nobbut a strike, an t' made him ill toconvince: but he'll coom, niver fear!'
The honest fellow never said a word of the shilling he had paid outof his own pocket to forward Sylvia's wishes, and to persuade thetailor to leave the good beer. All his anxiety now was to know if hehad been missed, and if it was likely that a scolding awaited him inthe morning.
'T' oud measter didn't set up his back, 'cause a didn't coom in t'supper?'
'He questioned a bit as to what thou were about, but mother didn'tknow, an' I held my peace. Mother carried thy supper in t' loft forthee.'
'A'll gang after 't, then, for a'm like a pair o' bellowses wi' t'wind out; just two flat sides wi' nowt betwixt.'
The next morning, Sylvia's face was a little redder than usual whenHarry Donkin's bow-legs were seen circling down the path to thehouse door.
'Here's Donkin, for sure!' exclaimed Bell, when she caught sight ofhim a minute after her daughter. 'Well, I just call that lucky! forhe'll be company for thee while Sylvia and me has to turn th'cheeses.'
This was too original a remark for a wife to make in Daniel'sopinion, on this especial morning, when his rheumatism was twinginghim more than usual, so he replied with severity--
'That's all t' women know about it. Wi' them it's "coompany,coompany, coompany," an' they think a man's no better thantheirsels. A'd have yo' to know a've a vast o' thoughts in myself',as I'm noane willing to l
ay out for t' benefit o' every man. A'veniver gotten time for meditation sin' a were married; leastways,sin' a left t' sea. Aboard ship, wi' niver a woman wi'n leagues o'hail, and upo' t' masthead, in special, a could.'
'Then I'd better tell Donkin as we've no work for him,' said Sylvia,instinctively managing her father by agreeing with him, instead ofreasoning with or contradicting him.
'Now, theere you go!' wrenching himself round, for fear Sylviashould carry her meekly made threat into execution. 'Ugh! ugh!' ashis limb hurt him. 'Come in, Harry, come in, and talk a bit o' senseto me, for a've been shut up wi' women these four days, and a'ma'most a nateral by this time. A'se bound for 't, they'll find yo'some wark, if 't's nought but for to save their own fingers.'
So Harry took off his coat, and seated himself professional-wise onthe hastily-cleared dresser, so that he might have all the lightafforded by the long, low casement window. Then he blew in histhimble, sucked his finger, so that they might adhere tightlytogether, and looked about for a subject for opening conversation,while Sylvia and her mother might be heard opening and shuttingdrawers and box-lids before they could find the articles that neededrepair, or that were required to mend each other.
'Women's well enough i' their way,' said Daniel, in a philosophizingtone, 'but a man may have too much on 'em. Now there's me, leg-fastthese four days, and a'll make free to say to yo', a'd rather a dealha' been loading dung i' t' wettest weather; an' a reckon it's th'being wi' nought but women as tires me so: they talk so foolish itgets int' t' bones like. Now thou know'st thou'rt not called much ofa man oather, but bless yo', t' ninth part's summut to be thankfulfor, after nought but women. An' yet, yo' seen, they were forsending yo' away i' their foolishness! Well! missus, and who's topay for t' fettling of all them clothes?' as Bell came down with herarms full. She was going to answer her husband meekly and literallyaccording to her wont, but Sylvia, already detecting the increasedcheerfulness of his tone, called out from behind her mother--
'I am, feyther. I'm going for to sell my new cloak as I boughtThursday, for the mending on your old coats and waistcoats.'
'Hearken till her,' said Daniel, chuckling. 'She's a true wench.Three days sin' noane so full as she o' t' new cloak that now she'sfain t' sell.'
'Ay, Harry. If feyther won't pay yo' for making all these oldclothes as good as new, I'll sell my new red cloak sooner than yo'shall go unpaid.'
'A reckon it's a bargain,' said Harry, casting sharp, professionaleyes on the heap before him, and singling out the best article as totexture for examination and comment.
'They're all again these metal buttons,' said he. 'Silk weavers hasbeen petitioning Ministers t' make a law to favour silk buttons; andI did hear tell as there were informers goin' about spyin' aftermetal buttons, and as how they could haul yo' before a justice forwearing on 'em.'
'A were wed in 'em, and a'll wear 'em to my dyin' day, or a'll wearnoane at a'. They're for making such a pack o' laws, they'll be formeddling wi' my fashion o' sleeping next, and taxing me for iverysnore a give. They've been after t' winders, and after t' vittle,and after t' very saut to 't; it's dearer by hauf an' more nor itwere when a were a boy: they're a meddlesome set o' folks,law-makers is, an' a'll niver believe King George has ought t' dowi' 't. But mark my words; I were wed wi' brass buttons, and brassbuttons a'll wear to my death, an' if they moither me about it, a'llwear brass buttons i' my coffin!'
By this time Harry had arranged a certain course of action with MrsRobson, conducting the consultation and agreement by signs. Histhread was flying fast already, and the mother and daughter feltmore free to pursue their own business than they had done forseveral days; for it was a good sign that Daniel had taken his pipeout of the square hollow in the fireside wall, where he usually keptit, and was preparing to diversify his remarks with satisfyinginterludes of puffing.
'Why, look ye; this very baccy had a run for 't. It came ashoresewed up neatly enough i' a woman's stays, as was wife to afishing-smack down at t' bay yonder. She were a lean thing as iveryou saw, when she went for t' see her husband aboard t' vessel; butshe coom back lustier by a deal, an' wi' many a thing on her, hereand theere, beside baccy. An' that were i' t' face o' coast-guardand yon tender, an' a'. But she made as though she were tipsy, an'so they did nought but curse her, an' get out on her way.'
'Speaking of t' tender, there's been a piece o' wark i' Monkshaventhis week wi' t' press-gang,' said Harry.
'Ay! ay! our lass was telling about 't; but, Lord bless ye! there'sno gettin' t' rights on a story out on a woman--though a will saythis for our Sylvie, she's as bright a lass as iver a man lookedat.'
Now the truth was, that Daniel had not liked to demean himself, atthe time when Sylvia came back so full of what she had seen atMonkshaven, by evincing any curiosity on the subject. He had thenthought that the next day he would find some business that shouldtake him down to the town, when he could learn all that was to belearnt, without flattering his womankind by asking questions, as ifanything they might say could interest him. He had a strong notionof being a kind of domestic Jupiter.
'It's made a deal o' wark i' Monkshaven. Folk had gotten to thinknought o' t' tender, she lay so still, an' t' leftenant paid such agood price for all he wanted for t' ship. But o' Thursday t'_Resolution_, first whaler back this season, came in port, and t'press-gang showed their teeth, and carried off four as goodable-bodied seamen as iver I made trousers for; and t' place wereall up like a nest o' wasps, when yo've set your foot in t' midst.They were so mad, they were ready for t' fight t' very pavin'stones.'
'A wish a'd been theere! A just wish a had! A've a score for t'reckon up wi' t' press-gang!'
And the old man lifted up his right hand--his hand on which theforefinger and thumb were maimed and useless--partly indenunciation, and partly as a witness of what he had endured toescape from the service, abhorred because it was forced. His facebecame a totally different countenance with the expression ofsettled and unrelenting indignation, which his words called out.
'G'on, man, g'on,' said Daniel, impatient with Donkin for the littledelay occasioned by the necessity of arranging his work more fully.
'Ay! ay! all in good time; for a've a long tale to tell yet; an' amun have some 'un to iron me out my seams, and look me out my bits,for there's none here fit for my purpose.'
'Dang thy bits! Here, Sylvie! Sylvie! come and be tailor's man, andlet t' chap get settled sharp, for a'm fain t' hear his story.'
Sylvia took her directions, and placed her irons in the fire, andran upstairs for the bundle which had been put aside by her carefulmother for occasions like the present. It consisted of small piecesof various coloured cloth, cut out of old coats and waistcoats, andsimilar garments, when the whole had become too much worn for use,yet when part had been good enough to be treasured by a thriftyhousewife. Daniel grew angry before Donkin had selected his patternsand settled the work to his own mind.
'Well,' said he at last; 'a mought be a young man a-goin' a wooin',by t' pains thou'st taken for t' match my oud clothes. I don't careif they're patched wi' scarlet, a tell thee; so as thou'lt work awayat thy tale wi' thy tongue, same time as thou works at thy needlewi' thy fingers.'
'Then, as a were saying, all Monkshaven were like a nest o' wasps,flyin' hither and thither, and makin' sich a buzzin' and a talkin'as niver were; and each wi' his sting out, ready for t' vent hisvenom o' rage and revenge. And women cryin' and sobbin' i' t'streets--when, Lord help us! o' Saturday came a worse time thaniver! for all Friday there had been a kind o' expectation an' dismayabout t' _Good Fortune_, as t' mariners had said was off St Abb'sHead o' Thursday, when t' _Resolution_ came in; and there was wivesand maids wi' husbands an' sweethearts aboard t' _Good Fortune_ready to throw their eyes out on their heads wi' gazin', gazin'nor'ards over t'sea, as were all one haze o' blankness wi' t' rain;and when t' afternoon tide comed in, an' niver a line on her to beseen, folk were oncertain as t' whether she were holding off forfear o' t' tender--as were out o' sight, too--or what were her mak'o' goin' on
. An' t' poor wet draggled women folk came up t' town,some slowly cryin', as if their hearts was sick, an' others justbent their heads to t' wind, and went straight to their homes,nother looking nor speaking to ony one; but barred their doors, andstiffened theirsels up for a night o' waiting. Saturday morn--yo'llmind Saturday morn, it were stormy and gusty, downreet dirtyweather--theere stood t' folk again by daylight, a watching an' astraining, and by that tide t' _Good Fortune_ came o'er t' bar. Butt' excisemen had sent back her news by t' boat as took 'em there.They'd a deal of oil, and a vast o' blubber. But for all that herflag was drooping i' t' rain, half mast high, for mourning andsorrow, an' they'd a dead man aboard--a dead man as was living andstrong last sunrise. An' there was another as lay between life an'death, and there was seven more as should ha' been theere as wasn't,but was carried off by t' gang. T' frigate as we 'n a' heard tellon, as lying off Hartlepool, got tidings fra' t' tender as capturedt' seamen o' Thursday: and t' _Aurora_, as they ca'ed her, made offfor t' nor'ard; and nine leagues off St Abb's Head, t' _Resolution_thinks she were, she see'd t' frigate, and knowed by her build shewere a man-o'-war, and guessed she were bound on king's kidnapping.I seen t' wounded man mysen wi' my own eyes; and he'll live! he'lllive! Niver a man died yet, wi' such a strong purpose o' vengeancein him. He could barely speak, for he were badly shot, but hiscolour coome and went, as t' master's mate an' t' captain telled meand some others how t' _Aurora_ fired at 'em, and how t' innocentwhaler hoisted her colours, but afore they were fairly run up,another shot coome close in t' shrouds, and then t' Greenland shipbeing t' windward, bore down on t' frigate; but as they knew shewere an oud fox, and bent on mischief, Kinraid (that's he who liesa-dying, only he'll noane die, a'se bound), the specksioneer, badet' men go down between decks, and fasten t' hatches well, an' he'dstand guard, he an' captain, and t' oud master's mate, being leftupo' deck for t' give a welcome just skin-deep to t' boat's crewfra' t' _Aurora_, as they could see coming t'wards them o'er t'watter, wi' their reg'lar man-o'-war's rowing----'
'Damn 'em!' said Daniel, in soliloquy, and under his breath.
Sylvia stood, poising her iron, and listening eagerly, afraid togive Donkin the hot iron for fear of interrupting the narrative,unwilling to put it into the fire again, because that action wouldperchance remind him of his work, which now the tailor hadforgotten, so eager was he in telling his story.
'Well! they coome on over t' watters wi' great bounds, and up t'sides they coome like locusts, all armed men; an' t' captain says hesaw Kinraid hide away his whaling knife under some tarpaulin', andhe knew he meant mischief, an' he would no more ha' stopped him wi'a word nor he would ha' stopped him fra' killing a whale. And whent' _Aurora_'s men were aboard, one on 'em runs to t' helm; and atthat t' captain says, he felt as if his wife were kissed afore hisface; but says he, "I bethought me on t' men as were shut up belowhatches, an' I remembered t' folk at Monkshaven as were looking outfor us even then; an' I said to mysel', I would speak fair as longas I could, more by token o' the whaling-knife, as I could seeglinting bright under t' black tarpaulin." So he spoke quite fairand civil, though he see'd they was nearing t' _Aurora_, and t'_Aurora_ was nearing them. Then t' navy captain hailed him thro' t'trumpet, wi' a great rough blast, and, says he, "Order your men tocome on deck." And t' captain of t' whaler says his men cried upfrom under t' hatches as they'd niver be gi'en up wi'out bloodshed,and he sees Kinraid take out his pistol, and look well to t'priming; so he says to t' navy captain, "We're protectedGreenland-men, and you have no right t' meddle wi' us." But t' navycaptain only bellows t' more, "Order your men t' come on deck. Ifthey won't obey you, and you have lost the command of your vessel, Ireckon you're in a state of mutiny, and you may come aboard t'_Aurora_ and such men as are willing t' follow you, and I'll fireint' the rest." Yo' see, that were t' depth o' the man: he were forpretending and pretexting as t' captain could na manage his ownship, and as he'd help him. But our Greenland captain were noane sopoor-spirited, and says he, "She's full of oil, and I ware you ofconsequences if you fire into her. Anyhow, pirate, or no pirate"(for t' word pirate stuck in his gizzard), "I'm a honest Monkshavenman, an' I come fra' a land where there's great icebergs and many adeadly danger, but niver a press-gang, thank God! and that's whatyou are, I reckon." Them's the words he told me, but whether hespoke 'em out so bold at t' time, I'se not so sure; they were in hismind for t' speak, only maybe prudence got t' better on him, for hesaid he prayed i' his heart to bring his cargo safe to t' owners,come what might. Well, t' _Aurora_'s men aboard t' _Good Fortune_cried out "might they fire down t' hatches, and bring t' men outthat a way?" and then t' specksioneer, he speaks, an' he says hestands ower t' hatches, and he has two good pistols, and summutbesides, and he don't care for his life, bein' a bachelor, but allbelow are married men, yo' see, and he'll put an end to t' first twochaps as come near t' hatches. An' they say he picked two off asmade for t' come near, and then, just as he were stooping for t'whaling knife, an' it's as big as a sickle----'
'Teach folk as don't know a whaling knife,' cried Daniel. 'I were aGreenland-man mysel'.'
'They shot him through t' side, and dizzied him, and kicked himaside for dead; and fired down t' hatches, and killed one man, anddisabled two, and then t' rest cried for quarter, for life is sweet,e'en aboard a king's ship; and t' _Aurora_ carried 'em off, woundedmen, an' able men, an' all: leaving Kinraid for dead, as wasn'tdead, and Darley for dead, as was dead, an' t' captain and master'smate as were too old for work; and t' captain, as loves Kinraid likea brother, poured rum down his throat, and bandaged him up, and hassent for t' first doctor in Monkshaven for to get t' slugs out; forthey say there's niver such a harpooner in a' t' Greenland seas; an'I can speak fra' my own seeing he's a fine young fellow where helies theere, all stark and wan for weakness and loss o' blood. ButDarley's dead as a door-nail; and there's to be such a burying ofhim as niver was seen afore i' Monkshaven, come Sunday. And now gi'us t' iron, wench, and let's lose no more time a-talking.'
'It's noane loss o' time,' said Daniel, moving himself heavily inhis chair, to feel how helpless he was once more. 'If a were asyoung as once a were--nay, lad, if a had na these sore rheumatics,now--a reckon as t' press-gang 'ud find out as t' shouldn't do suchthings for nothing. Bless thee, man! it's waur nor i' my youth i'th' Ameriky war, and then 't were bad enough.'
'And Kinraid?' said Sylvia, drawing a long breath, after the effortof realizing it all; her cheeks had flushed up, and her eyes hadglittered during the progress of the tale.
'Oh! he'll do. He'll not die. Life's stuff is in him yet.'
'He'll be Molly Corney's cousin, I reckon,' said Sylvia, bethinkingher with a blush of Molly Corney's implication that he was more thana cousin to her, and immediately longing to go off and see Molly,and hear all the little details which women do not think it beneaththem to give to women. From that time Sylvia's little heart was benton this purpose. But it was not one to be openly avowed even toherself. She only wanted sadly to see Molly, and she almost believedherself that it was to consult her about the fashion of her cloak;which Donkin was to cut out, and which she was to make under hisdirections; at any rate, this was the reason she gave to her motherwhen the day's work was done, and a fine gleam came out upon thepale and watery sky towards evening.